


Spit and Polish

by lackluster_lexicon



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Heart-to-Heart
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 15:34:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11671974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackluster_lexicon/pseuds/lackluster_lexicon
Summary: Tony releases the blend button and sets about pouring his concoction into a couple glasses. “I don’t do anything halfway.”





	Spit and Polish

**Author's Note:**

> 100% fluff. Set somewhere between Avengers and AoU.

He can tell Tony is watching him from across the table and tries diligently to ignore it, but after almost two minutes of silence Steve gives up, drops the old t-shirt he’s using as polishing rag on top of the shield, and looks up at Tony.

“Yes?”

Tony feigns a frown and shakes his head.

“No, nothing. Just enjoying the history lesson.”

Steve raises an eyebrow. “We’ve been quiet for almost twenty minutes.”

“I meant the spit-and-polish routine,” Tony says with a smirk, and despite himself, Steve looks down at the shield, t-shirt rag, and almost-empty container of polish on the table in front of him. When he looks back up at Tony, he’s matching him smirk-for-smirk.

“I take it you have something for this?”

“I sure don’t polish all of my armors by hand like a damn Luddite.”

Steve poker face breaks first – it always does – and he barks a laugh as he pushes the shield across the table to a waiting Tony.

“This is how I’ve always done it,” he says, even as Tony stands and takes the shield into his hands. “But okay, show me how it’s done nowadays.”

Turns out there isn’t much to see; a platoon of robot arms had descended from the ceiling, taken the scuffed and scarred shield from Tony, and then, ten minutes later, returned it to Steve looking newer than it had when Howard had first presented it to him. Steve is still examining the job as he crosses the lab to join Tony at the kitchenette, where Tony is busy dumping produce into a blender.

“Thanks,” Steve says, just as Tony fires up.

“What?” Tony turns to glance at Steve over his shoulder; Steve holds the shield up, facing Tony.

“Best I’ve ever seen it,” Steve says over the roar of the blender.

“Of course it is.” Tony releases the blend button and sets about pouring his concoction into a couple glasses. “I don’t do anything halfway.”

Tony meets Steve with the smoothies, one of which Steve takes with one hand, the other still holding the shield by the rim.

“Well, my afternoon just opened up,” Steve says, peering into the glass. “Any suggestions for what I should do with it?”

—

Tony still has the wrench in his hand even as he’s talking, using it to point or wave for emphasis. Steve can’t remember the last time Tony was this animated, but it’s a riot, and he wants nothing more than to keep Tony at it even though he’s clearly distracting Tony from tuning up Steve’s bike.

“And then what?” Steve asks obligingly when Tony pauses – for dramatic effect, Steve thinks, until Tony speaks again.

“Well, I had her push the button, of course.”

Steve’s smile fades, but now Tony’s talking again, speeding through the rest of his story as though he’s bored by it.

“Fried everything, just like I said it would. Or almost everything; the initial shock wave shoved me out of the way, so hey, no harm, no foul.”

Tony raises his glasses and tips it toward Steve.

“And that’s how Pepper saved Stark Industries. And me.”

Steve watches Tony take a swig of smoothie, and Tony must sense it, because he turns back to the bike before setting the glass back down on the floor beside him. Steve is seated on the floor as well, directly in front of the bike, where he can watch Tony without hovering over his shoulder. Tony returns his attention to the bike, leaving Steve to mull over his next words.

“I ever tell you about the time I jumped on a grenade?”

Tony snorts. “When was this, last Tuesday?”

“No, when I was in basic. Camp Leheigh. Before.”

Tony doesn’t pull away from the bike, but he does glance sidelong at Steve.

“Peggy was running us through drills,” Steve says, and though he probably shouldn’t be, he’s already starting to laugh, “and Colonel Phillips was arguing with Dr. Erskine about the Rebirth project. He threw a dummy grenade at us – uh, Phillips did, not Erskine – and I jumped my skinny ass right on it, in front of Peggy and everybody.” Steve laughs again. “Never told Bucky.”

Tony leans back from the bike to look Steve in the eye.

“What the hell is jumping on the grenade supposed to do?”

Steve’s a little taken aback by how serious a gaze Tony is leveling at him right now, and he stammers a little on his way back to his point.

“Um. It – uh, it absorbs the force of – ”

“‘It’ – you mean  _you_.”

The wrench in Tony’s hand is dangling, forgotten, from Tony’s fingers.

“Yeah,” Steve says, “kinda like how you were ready to fry yourself to stop Stane.”

Tony scoffs and turns back to the bike again, but he doesn’t raise the wrench this time; instead, he closes his fist around it but keeps it pressed solidly to his knee. Whatever point Steve was going to make about the sacrifice play and heroism falls to the wayside as he mentally kicks himself for getting preachy and blowing the moment – because he  _wants_  this, he wants Tony to like him and he wants Tony to know that Steve likes him, too. He wants Tony to know that Steve thinks he’s the bravest man Steve knows. He wants to know that they aren’t just tolerating each other because they’re teammates; he wants to believe that they can be more complementary than oppositional, that they haven’t just been politely performing for each other for the past few hours.

He remembers telling Tony that he’s not the guy to make the sacrifice play, and he still regrets it. He wants Tony to know that, too, but Steve’s also pretty sure he could apologize every day for the rest of their lives and still never undo the damage he did – or contributed to, Steve’s starting to understand now. 

“When was the last time you flushed this fuel line?” Tony asks. Steve shakes his head slightly and prays that this is Tony giving him another shot.

“Dunno. When was the last time you took at look at it?”

Steve manages half a smile at the genuine surprise on Tony’s face when he faces him again.

“Are you serious?” Tony says. “It’s been….what, seven months? You’re supposed to be taking this thing in to a mechanic – ”

Steve shrugs and Tony falls silent, cocking his head as he waits for Steve to let him in on the joke.

“I do take it in to a mechanic,” Steve says. He straightens one leg and nudges at Tony’s knee with his toes. “Only one I trust with it.”

Tony watches him – glances down at Steve’s socked foot, then back up at Steve – and then switches the wrench to his left hand so he can drop his right on Steve’s ankle and give it a shake.

“What a kiss ass,” Tony says, but a smile is pulling at the corner of his lips now, and Steve accepts it as a victory – or, at least, a step in the right direction.


End file.
